


Constellations

by iwish



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwish/pseuds/iwish
Summary: Grantaire decides to show up to a meeting with his chest covered in paint. It ends about as well as you'd expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Tumblr ages ago and forgot to transfer it, so here we are!  
> (Based on a dialogue prompt)

“You need to put a shirt on.”

“Why, does my bare chest offend you?”

“Everything about you offends me.”

“Rude.”

At this point, Enjolras shouldn’t have been surprised. He often heard random shit like this from Grantaire.

It just wasn’t normally in reply to Montparnasse.

Eponine, yes. Courf, yes.

Hell, he’d even heard Marius bantering back and forth with the artist.

But Parnasse?

This was new.

He glanced up from his notes and tried not to stare. He failed miserably.

The artist was covered from the neck down in paint, right to the waistband of his jeans. It was a deep blue, mottled with black and silver like the night sky. Grantaire noticed Enjolras looking and gave a mocking twirl to reveal that yes, it was across his shoulder blades too.

“How do I look?”

“You look like a twat.” Parnasse offered. Jehan shushed him.

“Dazzling.” The word didn’t come from Enjolras - he was too stunned to speak. Courf was sitting down next to him with a coffee, looking highly amused. “What’s it for?”

“I’m raising awareness for astrology and the constellations of the sky.”

“Really?” Ferre joined in, looking both mildly interested and mildly concerned about the health risks of covering ones body in paint.

“Nah, I just thought it looked cool. I have got a couple of actual constellations on here though -” He twisted to look over his shoulder and attempted to point at one on his shoulder blade. “- Orion. Look.”

“So it is.” Courf grinned wickedly. “Do you have Dionysus’s Asses?”

“Sadly no.”

“Shame.” He drifted closer, close enough for Enjolras to smell the paint on him, mingled with surprisingly little alcohol.

“It’s nice.” The words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to register them and he had the satisfaction of seeing Grantaire’s jaw drop. Unfortunately, that lasted approximately three seconds, before he wheeled around to the rest of the café.

“My friends!” He cried, “Finally, on this most joyous day, I have been complimented! Complimented on my artwork by our glorious leader!”

“ _WHY_?” Montparnasse was enraged. “It’s outright visual pollution!”

“No, it’s not.” Enjolras could feel his cheeks heating up under the scrutinizing gazes of his best friends. “It’s…educational.”

It was a lame excuse and he knew it. The rest of the café knew it. The people of Paris knew it.

Hell, even the Australians knew it.

But he’d never been one for lying, and as such he was terrible at it. Courf sat in silence for a few seconds before howling with laughter, so hard that he fell off his chair and scared the shit out of everyone.

Gradually other people joined in. Ferre snickered at his boyfriend crying on the floor. Bahorel and Feuilly roared from the other side of the room. Eponine smirked and even Parnasse’s mouth twitched.

Meanwhile Enjolras felt his insides shrivel up and die, just like his will to live. They were all laughing at _him_. He felt his cheeks flush crimson, and then drop back to ice cold.

“Can I do nothing nice without being mocked?” He inquired icily. The laughter in the room froze. (Courf froze quite literally, his face still stretched into a grin. Ferre kicked him.)

“I’m joking, _mon ange_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? You look like an avenging angel, all righteous and-”

“No. I’m not an angel and you can stop mocking me because you know damn well I’m not.”

“Enj.” Ferre broke in calmly. “Maybe you should take a walk.”

“Why? Because I don’t want to be made a laughing stock?”

“Because you’re going to have a stroke. Go outside.” Ferre made little shooing motions with his hands.

As he turned to stalk out, he heard a sly remark from Montparnasse about it not just being a medical stroke.

* * *

 

It was cold outside and as soon as he was out there, Enjolras regretted his existence.

Well, maybe that was a bit strong.

But he regretted his actions, anyhow.

He needed to go and apologize to Grantaire, apologize to everyone else, possibly punch Parnasse, maybe ask Grantaire about the constellations and wait, what?

That thought was shot down even before it had fully formed.

Puffs of air rose up in front of him as he shivered for a few moments, before mentally slapping himself and turning to head indoors-

He walked smack into Grantaire and got a face full of paint.

“Oh, for f-”

“Shit sorry, I-”

There was an awkward few seconds as the artist tried to get some of the paint out of Enjolras’s eyebrows.

He gave up and tried to talk “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel you were being laughed at-”

“I’m sorry for losing my temper and-”

They stared at each other, which gave Enjolras plenty of time to form a proper apology and an appropriate question about the constellations and-

“Ah fuck it.”

They were kissing.

They were kissing and Enjolras didn’t particularly care about the paint covering his shirt and face because it was good, it was amazing even and there were tiny fireworks exploding around him, no matter how cliché they were.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a while before they re-entered the café. For a few seconds, everyone stared at them, then Marius asked cautiously “Enjolras, why are you covered in paint?”

They looked at each other.

“Fuck.”

“I’ll bet you were.”

“ _Montparnasse_.”


End file.
